Barack Obama once was tucked in at night by a Jewish camp counselor.

Hillary Clinton has a deceased Jewish aunt (not to be confused with Halle Barry’s Jewish cousin).

John McCain has a Jewish best friend — a real regular Joe.

My first Cub Scout Den Mother — who honestly deserved to be named Den Mother of the Year — was African-American. My favorite pizza place is run by Greek immigrants. Neither one of those facts qualifies me to be the keynote speaker for the NAACP or earns me automatic membership in the fraternity house of my choice.

The Daily Show’s Jon Stewart recently mocked the obsequious behavior of presidential candidates attending the national AIPAC conference, charging that they were all afraid to even remotely criticize Israel. The reality is that pandering is at the core of all politics.

Consider how much impact a few Spanish catch phrases had on the Hispanic vote for President Bush. Or how carefully John McCain chooses his words when talking about illegal immigration.

Personally, I recoiled at Stewart’s hokey Eastern European Jewish grandma accent, fearing the comedian might be morphing into the intolerable Jackie Mason.* But as I make the case on the Ha’Aretz Ed-Op page, The Daily Show does a stellar job in ridiculing the patronizing nature of ethnic politics in general.

After showing the audience a clip of Republican nominee John McCain not just bragging about visiting Jerusalem — but gallivanting around the Holy City with U.S. Sen. Joe Lieberman — Stewart snaps: “When you go to Israel, you don’t need to bring your own Jew! There’s a wide variety of Jews there.”

He goes on to call Israel, a “Whitman’s Sampler of Jews.”

* Some mean people in the comments section of Ha’aretz said some very mean things. Including attacking me for the sin of not being famous — at least not famous enough to criticize Jon Stewart’s accent with any authority.

Nothing like watching the kiddies smack each other in the face with a 3-foot-long “soft” rope and then listen to the classic “Raiders of the Lost Ark” theme as a reward. Would be even more fantastic if the whip handle also played other John Williams-composed hits.

The whip itself is soft — silky smooth like a feather. But if swung around like a lasso, with the handle as a weight, you recreate the subway vigilante scene in Charles Bronson’s “Death Wish.”

A couple of rolls of quarters hunkered down in a sock does wonders for thug deterrence.

But kids would never misuse a whip, would they? Especially with Hasbro’s cigarette-style product warning (guaranteed to be ignored). I’m betting this warning just gives the more rowdy kids ideas — broadens their sadistic role-playing horizons.

But the danger factor really isn’t the reason why the Indiana Jones Electronic Sound FX Whip earns my vote for Most Demented Toy of 2008 — with even seven months to go to the holidays. The reason is that a whip is one of the sickest weapons available. In real life, its purpose is to inflict as much suffering as possible. And the user has to enjoy — or least tolerate the torture.

With a nuclear weapon, you press a button and hit a target far away. Ditto for pulling the trigger on a gun. A whip only has three possible violent contexts:

1. To abuse animals.
2. To torture slaves or prisoners.
3. To enhance sado-masochistic sex.

Do yourself a favor: If your kid wants to pretend to be Indiana Jones, go out and buy him some old fashioned toy guns. At the risk of sounding like a Republican, six year olds and S & M just don’t mix.

Read more exclusive insights on the Most Demented Toy of the Year in my latest “Culture Schlock” column.

UPDATE: BURGER KING ALSO HAS A KIDS’ WHIP!

Oh, it’s true. My son Ari and I walked in to grab a Frozen Coke, quite frankly the only thing worth ordering there, and there it was — a poster advertising the “Indiana Jones Hip Whip” with the purchase of a BK Kids Meal

“The whole idea of a toy whip is crazy,” I told Ari, who fortunately shows no desire to own one (although he does gravitate toward all sorts of gumball machine crap).

“It’s even crazier when the toy doesn’t even do anything!” my son chimed in.

Exactly.

What is the point of this hard plastic mini-whip, besides wasting petroleum?

If I were to buy him a Burger King Kids Meal, and that will happen only if we are stranded at a highway rest stop and haven’t had food in 48 hours, I would much prefer that he play with the Indiana Jones Invisible Ink Journal.

Realizing I likely am in the minority when it comes to appreciating Indiana Jones merchandise, if you are a fan of this stuff, I highly recommend you read the musings of Eve and Dave, curators of the entertaining “Geeks of Doom” Web site.

CAN THE GREAT AMERICAN THRILL SHOW BE SAVED?

It is not featured in any tourist books and the locals don’t brag about it, but from an elevated stretch of Route 6 in rural Maine, you can see Jim “Crash” Moreau’s junk car sculpture garden. Painted red, white and blue, the 1970s sedans are frozen in action poses from Moreau’s illustrious 40-year-plus daredevil career.

It’s the New England version of Nebraska’s magnificent Carhenge.

“When I die,” the aging stuntman says, “whoever puts my obituary in the paper has to put the name ‘Crash’ in there or nobody would know me.”

Known as the “Maine Maniac,” Moreau is one of the last auto thrill show veterans still on the road. Back in the 1950s, 60s and 70s, there were several dozen “Hell Driver” stunt teams who criss-crossed North America and staged elaborate auto accidents for family entertainment. The most successful operation, the Joie Chitwood Thrill Show, had up to five daredevil units simultaneously performing at race tracks, sports stadiums and county fairs.

The late Evel Knievel, inarguably the biggest name in daredevil history, was inspired to jump motorcycles after he saw the Chitwood Show visit his hometown fair in Montana. Before Knievel launched his spectacular mega-events, such as the ill-fated jump over Snake River Canyon, less ambitious motorcycle leaps over a few cars were enchanting the regular thrill show crowds.

Regardless of whether a stuntman was driving on four wheels or two, there was one sacred principle about the level of risk involved. Unlike Knievel, who had several months of hospital time to recuperate between events, the thrill show guys had to repeat their stunts night after night. But before new live audiences, the repetition was far from boring.

Hell Drivers smashed through tunnels of fire – and barreled through walls of ice.

Animal rights activists be damned, they also jumped cars and pick-up trucks over circus elephants — with the elephant’s trainer assuming a much higher risk of getting smushed.

In their heyday, Hell Drivers were sex symbols, the closest small town folks would ever get to seeing a movie star. Joie Chitwood, Sr. doubled for heartthrob Clark Gable in the 1950s movie, “To Please a Lady,” the first film to use complex automobile stunts. Several thrill show-influenced James Bond movies would later follow.

Automobile manufacturers used to fight with each other for the sponsorship rights to Hell Driving shows. Nash Motors signed a long-term deal with Lucky Lee Lott. Ford and later, Chevrolet chose the Chitwoods to represent their brands. Plymouth had the Hurricane Hell Drivers. And Ford also advertised with the Aut Swenson Thrillcade (the elephant guys) and the Rotroff All-Girl Auto Thrill Show.

Today, the lucrative sponsorships are all gone. The money dried up as Hollywood special effects made old-school style stunts appear less impressive – and cable TV specials seemed to feature more dangerous acts 24/7. Demolition derbies, which are much cheaper to produce than a thrill show, have since taken over as the premiere event at county fairs.

These economic realities have made it extremely tough for the thrill show to thrive, but luckily the tradition is not dead. Crash’s cross-country seatbelt survival tour is captured in the new independent documentary, “Hell Drivers: America’s Original Crash Test Dummies.”

“Monster trucks have come in, demo derbies, extreme bike riders. They’ve all taken over a piece of the pie,” Moreau admits. “But as long as you’re doing the stunts that people see on TV, there are still many people who want to see a live stunt show.”

The Maine Maniac pays tribute to the thrill shows of old with his divebomber act, which involves driving a car off a ramp directly into a pile of junk cars. The hood of the airborne car usually sticks into the windshield of a junk car like an arrow.

He has also attracted a cult following for his Steel Wall stunt, which involves racing a car into vertically propped-up vehicles balanced on their front bumpers. The magnificent chain reaction crash looks like a motorhead’s fantasy game of dominoes.

Realizing the fickleness of young crowds raised on video games, Crash is adding a new car trick to his repertoire in 2008. It’s called the Kamikaze Death Drop, and like it is branded, it seems to be a suicidal.

At county fairs in Delaware, Maine and Pennsylvania, Crash plans to be strapped inside a car dangling from the top of a crane – and then released into a frightening free fall into a pile of junk cars. He’s still booking this act for future dates this summer and fall, so he’s probably lined up a decent chiropractor!

The 59-year-old Crash undoubtedly lumbers on with his career for deep personal reasons – the roar of the crowd, the thrill of life on the road – but each time he performs, he honors the memory of the original Hell Drivers. To the countless millions of kids who grew up looking forward to the county fair every year, auto thrill show stars were superhuman.

They kept our childhood sense of wonder alive for a little longer. And let us vicariously live on the edge that (fortunately) few of us dare to experience. For a small and gutsy group of automobile lovers, almost dying is the only way to live.

**
Darren Garnick is the producer of “Hell Drivers: America’s Original Crash Test Dummies,” which premieres on June 13 at the New Jersey International Film Festival. To be advised of upcoming screenings, send an email to helldrivers@comcast.net

I have to be honest. When I first saw Mario Alejandro’s baseball card video prominently featuring close-ups of his wife’s cleavage, there was a disconnect for me.

I knew baseball cards were in trouble with the kids market — with all those Yu-Gee-Go and Magic cards taking the place of Yazzes and Reggies (am I dating myself?) — but were breasts really necessary to recruit collectors?

If you’re curious about Mario’s artistic motivation, check out today’s “Working Stiff” column in the Boston Herald — and the exclusive Blogger Burnout Survey in the Working Stiff blog.

But before you judge Tatiana, a.k.a. Mrs. Wax Heaven, for flashing some skin, admit she’s no different than the women staffing 90 percent of the booths at any corporate trade show.

Let’s move beyond the busty imagery and get serious. Mario, who zealously aims to become the most influential baseball card blogger of all time, has captured what’s wonderful and despicable about the hobby I once loved as a kid.

The wonderful: It’s still a blast to experience the suspense of opening a baseball card pack and musing about the random combination of players, their statistics and possible meaning to your hometown team.

While the “headless” Tatiana (Mario chooses only to focus from chin down) was on Vanna White duty, here are some bits of trivia and commentary fired off by the man behind “Wax Heaven.”

*** WAX HEAVEN TRUTHS ***
1. Hall of Fame shortstop Ozzie Smith once got sucked into a Black Hole in a Simpsons episode.
2. “Reggie Jackson is the 1970s version of Jose Canseco.” Reggie will love that one!
3. Cubs/Cardinals bullpen legend Bruce Sutter has “a porn star mustache.”
4. Bill Clinton has his own baseball card. He’s wearing a Cleveland Indians uniform throwing out the first pitch. No Hillary cards, though.
5. The Mets’ David Wright is “overrated.”
6. Red Sox icon David Ortiz looks a lot like washed-up Sox icon Mo Vaughn. (Other than their skin color and stomachs, I heartily disagree).
7. The Red Sox broke the Curse in 2004 “due to a Drew Barrymore movie.” (Again, I heartily disagree. It was because of Matt Damon and Ben Affleck).

And the despicable part of the hobby? Baseball cards today are like lottery tickets. Instead of getting excited about landing their favorite player, kids and adult-kids are just focused on how much they can get on eBay for rare limited edition inserts.

At $3 to $10 pack, they’re lucky to break even.

By now, surely you’ve heard that Condi Rice starts her “No Excuses” workout routine at 4:30 a.m. in the State Department gym. For a deep analysis on how this affects you, check out my Boston Herald column, “My secretary of state can beat up your foreign minister.”

But what’s puzzling to me is how gingerly Fitness magazine is trumpeting their scoop. In her introduction to Condi’s bench press photo spread, Editor-in-Chief Denise Brodey is almost apologetic that she’s not profiling a Democrat fitness nut like Nancy Pelosi.

I confess I don’t know what Pelosi’s HDL/LDL ratio is or if she even works out.

I just know that Condi’s sin is that she’s too conservative.

“I had to wonder,” Brodey writes, “how does one of the most controversial figures in the White House today seem to shut it all down, throw on a sports bra and let the pressures of the day slide off her back?”

“Whether you are a fan of hers, Rice’s sheer will to succeed is inspiring. Here she shares how fitness keeps her sane…”

I’m assuming Brodey slaps the “controversial” tag on Rice because everyone who calls George Bush their boss, including his caterers, will be stigmatized in certain sectors for eternity. I’m also assuming that Fitness mag’s readership must be 80 percent Democrat.

Help me out here America: Do Republican women read fitness magazines? All those country clubs out there (some which still wouldn’t admit Rice) are filled with skinny people, right?

As for the “controversial” label, a PBS Frontline special just made the assertion that Condi was totally kept out of the loop by Dick Cheney and Don Rumsfeld about their fantasies to attack Iraq after 9/11. Frontline infers that as National Security Adviser, Rice was treated by Cheney and Rummy as a glorified Russian language grad student, someone who should have been fetching them coffee.

How come we never hear Jimmy Carter being described as the “controversial” former President? The guy is now openly embracing evil Hamas mastermind Khalid Meshal.

But back to Condi. Count me as a huge fan, even though I will never work out at 4:30 a.m.

Just stumbled across this ad in an “old” magazine cluttering my office floor.

Scott Baio looks a heck of a lot more comfortable here than I did wearing the Empathy Belly.

I guess being Photoshopped comes without the back pain.

And then, there’s this male pregnancy “miracle” touted by Oprah and People magazine.

OK, what’s with the parrot?

You can read my “Culture Schlock” analysis of why there’s nothing miraculous about Pregnant Thomas here.

But what do I know? I just put on a water-filled flak jacket. For a more authoritative view, I consulted Stephanie, a.k.a. “The Manic Mom,” who has experienced pregnancy from the female perspective.

Stephanie argues that a guy who was born a girl and kept all his “girly parts” minus the “ta-tas” is not a guy. Especially if “the indoor plumbing’s still active.”

There you go. The debate is officially settled.

… if cholesterol-busting butter substitutes were available in the 1940s?

Would he choose Smart Balance, the margarine spread developed at Brandeis University (the school he helped launch with his fundraising efforts) or would he be wooed by Lee Iacocca’s Olivio?

I analyze Brandeis U’s stunning new rebranding effort in the Boston Herald, questioning why America’s brightest high school students might be tantalized by a product that normally attracts 40 year olds.

Yes, that’s right. The new Brandeis Web site brags about its historical ties to Einstein, composer Leonard Bernstein and FDR’s better half, Eleanor Roosevelt — and then proceeds to boast about its historic role in bringing a new margarine to the marketplace.

For the sake of research, I tried Smart Balance and found it to be quite tasty. But not drastically different than the Olivio that usually dominates the butter tray in my fridge. No need to switch now.

My palate aside, why would Brandeis — which doesn’t let any stupid kids get within a 10 mile radius — even have to bother branding itself as “Smart From The Start?” Does Harvard or Yale keep reminding us how smart they are?

“Why does Harvard include the word ‘truth’ on every sweatshirt and t-shirt that they sell?” counters spokeswoman Lorna Miles, referring to Hah-vahd’s “Veritas” slogan in their logo.

The Brandeis logo also clings to the truth, incorporating the Hebrew word “Emet” in their logo.

An argument can be made that marketing is all about endless repetition, that even Coke feels compelled to call itself “The Real Thing” and Milk feels insecure enough to keep advertising with those dreadful cream mustaches.

But back to the mindset of 17 year olds. Are they really gonna care about old people food?

Why not brag about being the school that educated actress Debra Messing, offering all incoming freshman a chance in a lottery to get her dorm room? How about offering a Sociology course on the historical impact of “Will & Grace?”

What about bragging that your campus is home to Rachel Cohen, the imaginary Jewish friend of cartoon Lisa Simpson?

Or boast that Pat Buchanan doesn’t respect you because you don’t have a football team?

Brandeis, if you like these ideas, I am available as a branding consultant.

For all you alumni of other colleges, if your school had an official margarine, what would it be?

Also, who is the Debra Messing or Albert Einstein of your alma mater?

**

UPDATE: WHAT DO THE ADVERTISING GURUS THINK?

Adweek’s David Gianatasio hypothesizes that Einstein would have gone for cream cheese or Nutella slathered on an Einstein Bros. bagel.

News headlines don’t lie. Well, okay, sometimes they do.

But this one’s for real: The New Hampshire legislature is strongly considering lowering the presidential primary voting age to 17 – provided that the voter turns 18 by Election Day.

Wouldn’t it be fantastic if the slippery slope thing kicked in and we dropped the voting age limit altogether? That would allow Dahlia to vote in the 2012 NH Primary!

Heck, many of us already vote like infants anyway. I have a friend, an extremely intelligent friend, who confessed to me that her mother voted for President Bush for only one reason. She liked his mother, Barbara.

Yikes.

Moving on to the rest of the primary season, it is now time to somberly assess the true political impact of Baby Dahlia’s photo-ops with the presidential candidates.It is no coincidence that three out of the four most gentle “baby whisperers” are still in contention to win the White House: Clinton, Obama and McCain.

Being a natural nurturer did little for Dennis Kucinich, however.

February 8th UPDATE: NH Senate approves bill to give teens a vote in primary 

OK, so Dahlia has already proved that Kung Fu star Chuck Norris might be a better people person than any of the men and women running for president!

Seriously, what else is there in life to discover?

After being cuddled by every politician with a chance to become the most powerful human on earth, Dahlia is now branching out as a political pundit.

Given that these pictures have now been seen by MILLIONS of people, it’s fun to speculate what impact they may be having on the campaigns themselves.

We know that Dahlia didn’t offer much help to Dennis Kucinich, who projected warmth and humanity but just bailed out so he could focus on keeping his Ohio gig.

But Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama, who both are getting rave reviews from the baby photo pundits, are still very much in the game.

Needless to say, I would love to hear from any campaign workers or volunteers with feedback about their candidate’s Dahlia photo-op.

That’s my 5-year-old boy, Ari, at the polls on New Hampshire Primary voting day.

He had the honor of marking my ballot and feeding it into the machine, although I retained my right to pick my favorite candidate (Clue: Does not rhyme with Shmavel).

With all this global media attention unexpectedly focused on my baby girl, a casual observer might conclude that Ari has been replaced by a younger, more media-savvy sibling. Nothing could be further from the truth.

My 5-year-old boy demonstrates an extraordinary grasp on politics (he recently asked why Tom Tancredo quit his bid for president before the NH results, asking: “That doesn’t make any sense. Aren’t you always supposed to try your best?”).

But he is a 5-year-old boy and is tough to keep still during three hour forums on social security benefits and tax reform.

Here was a precious opportunity to combine a romp in the snow with an “ambush” of New Hampshire Primary winner John McCain. If you’re curious, yes that is a Dino Flintstone doll in the picture with the guys.

The media response to my “Baby Primary” photo essay for Slate Magazine has been overwhelming and astounding. Floating amidst a tidal wave of positive support, have been a few morons who have questioned my parenting skills and have accused me of “exploitation” of the baby. All I can say is that I would have been absolutely thrilled if my parents had thrust me into the arms of a grumpy LBJ or Richard Nixon.

Oh, there is one more ridiculous accusation I would like to address — Wow, this is becoming just like real politics!

I did not “steal” this idea from “some guy in Iowa.” Yes, there are lots of parents who have taken pictures of their children with politicians. I suspect the kissing babies thing goes at least as far as Teddy Roosevelt (can a presidential historian help me out here?)

I started my photography on Labor Day 2007, and really in 2003 if you count my son’s political pictures as part of the project. Mike McNarney and his wife Lauren Roth started photographing Baby William in Iowa in December. And in fact, they managed to wrap up everything (plus a Chelsea Clinton bonus) in just a week!

I’m somewhat jealous they captured the elusive Fred Thompson, the only candidate who I couldn’t nab because of his anti-Granite State attitudes (can we call it anti-Granitism?).

I met Mike and Lauren over the phone and we wholeheartedly support each other’s projects. Aside from gender, the only real difference between my photos and theirs is that mine feature the baby in the arms of the candidates. Baby William is always in the hands of his mother or father, with the notable exception of cuddly Bill Clinton.

Babies are unpredictable and force the candidate to respond outside the usual stiff cardboard pose. Personally, I don’t think it reflects poorly if a guy holds a baby like a football. Because that’s how I was before I became a father!

In any case, neither Mike nor I invented the baby photo-op. Nor did we invent the camera.

I encourage every parent who shares our fun-spirited sensibilities to take your children to a campaign event or two!